Friday, June 27, 2008

I haven’t written anything in a long time. I’m slipping below the surface again. I have a cold and it won’t go away. I feel like all I do is go to work, eat, make waste, and sleep. Sometimes I feel like a cancer on the earth. My existence seems all about consuming, and I don’t know what I’m giving back.
I think about Roman graves and women with gauzy dresses who lived thousands of years ago. I wonder if they ever felt the same way. No one is here to remember them now. What was the point?
Life keeps happening to me. It is so much bigger than I am. I keep waiting for something to sweep me along. And there is nothing. Nothing happens. I keep moving myself to better and better shores from which to catch a breeze. But the breeze doesn’t come. My favorite dreams are the ones in which I fly.